Her Bodyguard

Mallory Kane

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

About the Author

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Copyright

About the Author

MALLORY KANE has two very good reasons for loving reading and writing. Her mother was a librarian, who taught her to love and respect books as a precious resource. And her father is an amazing storyteller who can hold an audience spellbound for hours. She loves romantic suspense with dangerous heroes and dauntless heroines, and loves to incorporate her medical knowledge for an extra dose of intrigue. Mallory lives in Mississippi with her computer-genius husband, their two fascinating cats and, at current count, eight computers. She loves to hear from readers.You can write her at mallory@ mallorykane.com or via Harlequin Books.

For the members of Magnolia State Romance Writers. Thanks for all your support.

Chapter One

Lucas Delancey eyed the shelf of DVDs next to the flat-screen TV in the French Quarter apartment’s living room. The fake movie looked remarkably like all the others. As long as she didn’t decide to watch Charade, she’d never know she was being watched.

He’d had to get creative in the tiny kitchen. He couldn’t embed the state-of-the-art spy cam in the spine of a cookbook because they were stored in a cabinet. So he’d finally stuck it inside the smoke detector. Of course, that meant he’d had to deactivate it.

“Don’t burn down the house, Ange,” he muttered as he retrieved his screwdriver, wire stripper and pliers from the end table.

He glanced across the small living room toward the bedroom and bathroom, wondering if he was going to regret not setting up cameras in those two rooms, but it didn’t matter. He would not spy on Angela Grayson in her bedroom, much less her bathroom.

No way. He was violating her privacy in too many ways already.

He looked at his watch. Fifteen minutes to spare before she was due to be home, according to her class schedule. He took a last look around. No sign he’d been there.

He was almost to the door when his cell phone rang. It was Dawson.

Damn it. The only reason Dawson would call was if he’d spotted Angela.

“Yeah?” he snapped. “Don’t tell me—”

“Yep. You’re lucky I took a stretch break and looked up the street. She just came out of the market. You’ve got two minutes.”

“Great.” He’d have been home free in four. Crap.

He ran out, slamming the door behind him, and bounded down the stairs four at a time. At street level, the back door of the building opened onto a quaintly decorated alley, with iron benches and Boston ferns. Rain sprinkled down on his head and shoulders as he glanced toward the Chartres Street entrance, then he turned the other way and loped down the alley to Decatur Street. He circled the block and emerged back onto Chartres below Angela’s apartment building, prepared to sprint across the street.

Instead, he ran into her—literally. Something clattered to the pavement. He caught her arm to keep her from falling head over heels.

“Whoa! Sorry.”

Son of a bitch! Why had she bypassed her building? For a split second, he considered bolting. But he’d never get away before she recognized him. He might as well face the music. “Are you okay?” he asked, grimacing inside.

Angela Grayson stiffened as a jolt of recognition hit her. That voice.

Her first thought couldn’t be right. Lucas Delancey was a police detective in Dallas. He wouldn’t be walking in the French Quarter in early June.

When she looked up, she caught the full impact of those familiar intense green eyes.

“Lucas?”

“Hi, Ange,” he said, giving her a sheepish grin.

She jerked her arm out of his grasp. “What are you doing here?” Heat crawled up her neck to her cheeks. She couldn’t believe it. Lucas Delancey. Literally the last person she’d ever expected to see. It had been twelve years since she’d last looked into those devilish eyes.

“Uh—” he looked down and then picked up the DVD she’d dropped. He met her gaze as he handed it to her. “How … how’ve you been?”

“Why aren’t you in Dallas, detecting something?” Now that she’d come down from the initial shock of seeing him, she noticed how uncomfortable he seemed. She’d never seen him this ill at ease, except around his dad.

He was out of breath, as if he’d been running, and his hair was tousled, too. It really was Lucas. Hot and tanned and as handsome as she remembered, to her chagrin.

Still looking sheepish, he shrugged. “I’m taking some time off. A buddy lent me his apartment for a few days.”

Angela frowned. He was lying. She’d always been able to tell when he was dishing out bull. Okay, truth to tell, she once could, back when they were kids. Nowadays, who knew?

“Your buddy’s apartment. Please tell me it’s not around here—” She gestured vaguely.

“No. No. I was just walking.” He stepped backward. “What about you? Are you still living in Chef Voleur?”

“No way! I didn’t want to stay in our hometown any more than you did.”

“You and Brad gave up your mother’s home?”

She shook her head. “We’re renting it out.” She took a half step backward. “I’ve got to go.”

“You live around here?”

“That building back there, with the red shutters.” She saw the faint puzzled look that arose in his eyes. “I was going down to the newsstand to get a magazine.”

“Ange?”

Something inside her twisted at his use of her nickname. “It’s Angela,” she said coldly. “I’m all grown up now.”

He nodded, watching her intently. “I see that. You look good.”

“Do I? And the punch line is—?”

His brow wrinkled slightly. “No punch line. Still can’t take a compliment, I see.”

She met his gaze and was surprised. The twinkle she remembered hadn’t appeared in his eyes.

“Like you’d know,” she shot back, suppressing a smile. They’d always been good at the banter.

“Things going okay with you?”

And there it was. Just what she’d wanted to avoid. She didn’t want to try and make small talk with Lucas Delancey. Even twelve years later, she was too embarrassed.

“Things are fine.” Defensiveness edged her tone. She cleared her throat softly and continued. “You?”

He nodded and smiled—with his lips. His eyes remained serious. Something wasn’t right with Lucas—not that she cared. Or at least, not that she’d admit it.

“Okay, good. So—” She glanced around.

“We should get together sometime,” he ventured. “Catch up.”

“Sure. That would be—” Nice? No, it wouldn’t.

“Let me give you my phone number.”

“Listen Lucas, I don’t—” She stopped. Suddenly, irritatingly, having Lucas Delancey’s number at her fingertips sounded like the best idea ever. Probably because of the paranoia that had been growing inside her over the past few days.

“Okay,” she finished lamely. “That sounds great.” She dug her cell phone out of her purse and entered the numbers as he recited them. She didn’t offer him hers.

“Okay then,” he said. His gaze flickered downward, toward his feet, for an instant. Then he looked at her from under his brows.

“Take care, Ange. I’ll see you around.” He turned and headed back toward downtown.

For a couple of seconds, she watched him. In some ways he hadn’t changed since high school. That eyebrow still rose as if he knew a secret nobody else knew. And he still had that same cocky attitude.

No one would consider him skinny these days—cut was a better term. And his walk held more confidence than swagger. All things considered, he was still the best-looking guy she’d ever seen.

“Lucas,” she called out, not sure why.

He stopped and turned.

“It was—you know—good to see you.”

He nodded and smiled, as if he’d known she was going to say that, then kept walking.

Annoyed, she abandoned the notion of getting a magazine and turned on her heel, back toward her building. At the door, she glanced up the street, but he’d disappeared.

She frowned. What had he said? He was in town for a few days staying at a buddy’s apartment.

That was a lie. She had no idea what he was doing in New Orleans, but it wasn’t just a vacation. Her earlier thought had been right on the money.

Something was wrong. And whatever it was, Lucas was in the middle of it.

LUCAS ENTERED HIS BUILDING through the rear door, still cursing himself. All he’d have had to do was pause for five seconds to make sure Angela had gone into her building, before heading across the street.

Now she knew he was here. It wouldn’t take her long to figure out why. He’d seen how her eyes narrowed when he’d spun the vacation story. Those chocolate-colored eyes should be declared a lethal weapon.

Chocolate. The word conjured the scent he’d picked up when they’d collided. She’d been eating chocolate.

Chocolate and old movies. Her favorite guilty pleasures.

A thrill of lust slid through him as his mind flashed back twelve years to the night she’d kissed him. She’d been eating chocolate then, too. And ever since, he’d avoided it—tasting it was like tasting her lips.

He growled and forcibly shut down that part of his brain as he pushed open the door to the barren second-floor loft.

In front of the window across the room, his cousin Dawson was plugging a computer monitor into a black box. Four other screens were lined up on a long folding table.

“So, how’s Angela?” Dawson said. “Leave it to you to go all the way around the block and still manage to run into her.”

Lucas ignored the barb. “Are the cameras in her apartment working?”

“Of course. But you’ve got a problem.”

“What now?”

Dawson nodded toward one of the monitors. “Look at her door.”

Lucas looked at the monitor just as Angela came into view. The camera he’d set up over the transom opposite her apartment showed a perfect view of her entry door.

It was ajar.

“Ah, hell. I know I closed it. The lock should have caught.”

He watched as Angela stopped and stared at it.

“Maybe it doesn’t always catch,” Dawson offered. “Maybe she’s found it open before.”

Lucas shook his head. “Nope. She hasn’t. Look how rattled she is. And she’d never forget to lock it. Angela doesn’t make mistakes like that.”

He watched her glance around and knew exactly what she was thinking.

Do I go inside or find the building super and call the police?

“Damn it. Don’t go inside. You know better than that.” He tapped his fist against the table top. “She knows somebody’s been in there, because she knows she locked the door this morning. But I hope to hell she doesn’t call the police. If she does, we’re sunk. They’ll find the cameras.”

She finally made her decision and pushed the door open.

“That’s my Ange. Diving right into the middle of danger.” He glanced toward the other monitors. “Which one’s the living room?”

Dawson plugged the last monitor in and turned it on. “Right here.”

“What’s that?” He pointed at the box that all the cables ran to.

“A UPS. Uninterruptible power supply. Finest kind. It’ll run the computer for four hours if the power goes out. Take a look.”

The last monitor lit up. Lucas took in the array. The five monitors gave him a clear view of the street in front of her building, the front lobby, the hallway leading to her apartment, a wide-angle shot of her kitchen and her living room, where she was turning the lock on her door.

He watched as she scrutinized every inch of the room. She was looking for signs that someone had been in there.

“Only the kitchen and living room cameras pick up sound,” Dawson commented. “Keep it turned low. They’re powerful and sensitive.”

The high-definition monitor clearly showed the tense line of her jaw and her white knuckles. She looked toward her bedroom, then toward the French doors that led out onto the balcony, her teeth scraping her lower lip.

“That’s not the fearless bratty kid I remember. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this shaken by anything.”

Except once, his brain was quick to remind him. Again, the memory of her soft lips and chocolate scent assaulted his senses. He immediately shut off those thoughts. He needed to concentrate on protecting her.

She tossed her purse, her leather tote and the DVD onto the couch and headed for the balcony.

Lucas turned his gaze from the monitor to the streaked, spotted window. Her balcony was almost directly across the street. She opened the balcony doors and peered out. Her face was pale, her mouth set.

After a quick look up and down the street, she closed the doors and flipped the latch.

When he looked back at the living room monitor, all he saw was her sexy backside disappearing into the bedroom.

“You should have put a camera in her bedroom,” Dawson commented.

“What the hell is she thinking, living in a place like that?”

“You mean a place where someone can install cameras in her home without her knowledge?”

Lucas growled. “You know what I mean.”

“Thousands of people live in New Orleans in perfect safety.”

“Thousands of people don’t have ruthless Chicago crime families out to kidnap and kill them.”

“You can’t blame her. She doesn’t know she could be a target, right?”

“Right. But look at that place. I could fly a 747 through the holes in security. Anybody could climb up the balcony. Those French doors are an open invitation to burglars. And there’s no security at all in the lobby. The doors are unlocked 24/7. I got in her front door with a credit card.”

“A credit card? I thought her brother gave you a key.”

“He did. But when I saw that lock—it’s ancient. I mean, how long has it been since you unlocked a door with a credit card?”

“Let’s see. Forever. Why would you even try to do that?”

“Because those locks are so old that—never mind. The point is, she needs deadbolts.”

“If she had deadbolts, you wouldn’t have been able to get in.”

“Fine. I’ll give you that. But at least I’ve got the surveillance system in place, thanks to you. And it looks good. I appreciate it.”

“Yeah. Don’t mention it. Seriously, don’t. Particularly when you’re arrested for breaking and entering, not to mention stalking. I’ve taken all the Delancey Security logos off the equipment.”

“Thanks for the support.”

“Why didn’t your buddy Brad hire a private investigator to bodyguard his sister until he can put that crime boss behind bars? Or just make her move to Chicago, where he could keep an eye on her himself? Didn’t you tell me that the police there have his family under an order of protection?”

“Two reasons. First, since Angela’s last name is different from his, he figured she’d be safer if he didn’t do anything formal. He didn’t want to tip off Picone’s goons that he has a sister. And the second is the same reason he doesn’t want her to know she has a bodyguard. She’d have a tantrum and do her best to prove she doesn’t need protecting. And if she knew it was me—” Lucas shook his head “—hell, she’d probably paint a bull’s-eye on her back just to spite Brad and me.”

“Which brings up another question.” Dawson scrolled through several screens on the main monitor and nodded to himself. “Why is it you?”

“Brad asked me to find someone. I was available.” Lucas heard the irony in his voice.

Dawson nodded. “Lucky you, getting suspended for excessive force at just the right time.”

He grimaced. It rankled that his lieutenant hadn’t gone to bat for him against Dallas P.D. Internal Affairs. The domestic dispute had gotten violent long before Lucas and his partner had shown up. And if the husband hadn’t been the son of a Texas state senator, it would have been a routine call.

But Junior hadn’t appreciated Lucas conking him on the head to stop him from whaling on his wife. So he’d called his daddy, and suddenly, despite the wife’s black eye and strained shoulder, Junior was home free and Lucas was on suspension for three months.

“Gives me something to do. When Brad called, I’d already been on suspension for six weeks. Why wouldn’t I jump at the chance to do something other than stare at the walls?” Besides, how could he refuse? It was Angela—Brad’s little sister—who needed protecting.

He saw movement on the living room monitor. Angela was coming out of her bedroom. She’d changed into a sleeveless top and shorts and pushed her hair back from her face with some kind of headband.

“Okay. You’re all set up here. I’ve got other clients to see—paying clients.” Dawson stood. “Take care, Luke. If there really is a hit man after her, you could find yourself in the line of fire.”

Luke stood, too, and held out his hand. “That’s why I’m here. Thanks, cousin. I really do appreciate your help.” His gaze slid back to the monitor. “Look at her. She can’t settle down. She keeps looking at the door. There’s got to be something else going on.” He frowned. “Damn, you reckon she’s noticed someone watching her?”

“Maybe you should talk to her—tell her it was you in her apartment. It might make her feel better.”

“Are you kidding me? To her, that would be worse than finding out she’s being targeted for a hit. Angela Grayson hates me.”

ANGELA SLAMMED THE BOOK SHUT and drained her glass of sweet iced tea. Her watch read 11:15.

She groaned and rubbed her eyes. She’d been trying to study for two hours, most of which she’d spent staring at indecipherable words. So much for cramming for tomorrow’s Business Ethics exam.

Hopefully, she’d gleaned enough from the lectures to pass, because no way was her brain going to process anything tonight.

She could only think about one thing—okay, two if she counted Lucas Delancey, and both of them were making her crazy. But the one that scared her most was that someone had been inside her apartment.

And not for the first time, either.

A week ago, after going to dinner with friends, she’d come home to find the living room light on and a torn slip of paper on the hardwood floor.

She’d called Mr. Bouvier, the super. Sure enough, he’d had an electrician checking the wiring in 1A downstairs, but he didn’t think the guy had gone into any of the other apartments. So she’d written that one off with a request for Bouvier to put deadbolts on her doors. He’d promised her he’d get to it. But of course he hadn’t yet.

Now it had happened again. Damn Bouvier and his cut-rate handymen. She’d had it with them invading her space and interrupting her life.

She opened the book again, but it might as well have been written in Greek. She growled under her breath and managed not to throw it across the room.

As soon as exams were over, she’d buy the deadbolts herself. Maybe she’d even get an alarm system. Didn’t one of the Delancey boys own a security company?

Of course, if she didn’t pass the exams, she might not be able to keep the apartment. Not to mention she could kiss her career plan goodbye. Even with a PhD in hospitality management, she needed the specific postdoctoral courses she was taking during the June mini-semester to qualify for the kind of position she wanted with a premier hotel chain.

She carried her glass to the sink, doing her best to ignore the frisson of fear that slid down her spine when she passed her hall door.

It must have been Mr. Bouvier who’d been inside her apartment and left the door open. As her super, he had a key. But that rational explanation did nothing to make her feel better.

To avoid looking at the door she glanced in the other direction, toward her balcony. There she spotted her broken reflection in the multiple glass panes of the French doors. Her heart skipped a beat.

For the first time since she’d moved in, she was conscious of what someone looking in her window could see. She shivered, feeling exposed. How many times had she walked to the kitchen in skimpy pajamas? Or next to nothing?

With a huge effort, she managed to walk calmly across the room and turn out the lights. Now she could see out while she was hopefully hidden by darkness.

Directly across the street from her balcony was a dirty window. In the past eight months she’d never once seen lights in there, much less anyone moving around. But tonight, her imagination was running wild.

She squinted. Did she see a faint blue glow behind the streaked glass? Or was it just a reflection? Were the deep shapeless shadows hiding a dark figure whose eyes followed her every move?

She really needed to get curtains.

She took a deep breath and, ignoring the trickle of fear that slithered down her back, stalked deliberately over to the French doors and checked the locks.

On the way to her bedroom she packed up her Business Ethics book. She might as well take it with her. She was pretty sure she wasn’t going to sleep tonight.

She wasn’t fond of studying into the wee hours of the morning, but it would be better than lying awake in the dark. Then a second thought had her reaching for her purse. She grabbed her cell phone to carry with her into the bedroom.

“Whoever you are,” she said out loud to the faceless person who had violated her privacy. “Are you trying to make me afraid in my own home? Well, it won’t work.”

Whoever was sneaking around in her apartment while she wasn’t home was a coward. So why was she the one who felt terrified?

LUCAS HEARD HER brave words through Dawson’s state-of-the-art equipment. He also heard the quiver in her voice. Just like he remembered.

When they were kids, there was no dare Angela wouldn’t take. She’d stick that stubborn little chin out and flash those brown eyes. It didn’t matter if her chin trembled and vulnerable fear lurked behind her cutting glare. She’d never balked at anything.

She had a nasty scar above her right knee to prove it. He’d bet her that she couldn’t follow him across a deep drainage ditch. He’d barely made it to the other side. But before he could turn around and warn her not to try it with her shorter legs, she’d jumped—and fallen.

“Damn it, Angela,” he whispered. “Be careful.” Her attitude had earned her more scars than that one— both physical and emotional. A couple of each were his fault.

He’d been both reluctant and glad to take on this job when Brad asked him to. He’d thought Lucas was doing him a favor. But he wasn’t doing it for Brad. He was doing it because he owed Angela.

Brad Harcourt was the assistant district attorney in Chicago, and Angela’s half-brother. He’d asked Lucas to make sure she was safe until Nikolai Picone’s trial was over and the crime boss was behind bars. He’d outlined for Lucas the extent of Picone’s influence. Nikolai Picone headed one of the biggest crime organizations operating in the Midwest.

Lucas knew a man with that much power would have no trouble tracking down an innocent young woman who had no reason to hide. He couldn’t let down his guard for even one instant.

If he did, Angela could end up dead.

Chapter Two

At least the Business Ethics exam was over. Who knew if she’d passed or not? When she’d turned it in a half hour ago she’d felt pretty confident, but now her brain was racing, questioning every single answer.

Angela hurried along the sidewalk, hoping to beat the rain. Usually she enjoyed the two-block walk from the streetcar stop to her apartment on Chartres Street. She liked to stop at the market for vegetables or fruit, French bread, a DVD from Sal’s private collection of classic movies and maybe a chocolate truffle.

But today was different. The air was heavy with humidity, she hadn’t slept the night before and there was a man behind her following way too closely.

She’d felt funny on the streetcar, like someone was watching her, but she’d chalked it up to nervousness about the exam and the paranoia that had been growing inside her over the past several days.

She should have stopped in at Sal’s, where she’d be surrounded by people in case the man really was following her. She wasn’t really sure why she hadn’t. For some reason, at the last second, she’d decided she’d rather be home, inside her apartment with the doors locked.

Stupid.

A few drops of rain penetrated her thin shirt, so she sped up. To her alarm, the footsteps behind her sped up, too. And was it her imagination, or could she hear the man’s harsh breaths in her ear, sawing in and out—in and out?

She wanted to turn her head and look back, but if he was following her, she didn’t want to look into his eyes.

When had she become such a wimp?

Before yesterday, she’d have stopped and whirled, eyeing him with a pugnacious stare until he walked on past her or crossed the street. She might be afraid, but she’d never let him know it.

Today, however, everything was different.

Today terror clawed its way up her throat, like it had when she was a child and a nightmare would wake her. She swallowed hard and gripped her umbrella like a weapon.

“Angela, hi!”

She almost tripped.

It was her downstairs neighbor, Billy Laverne, walking his Afghan hound toward her, or, more accurately, being walked by the gigantic dog.

“Hi, Billy.” The wash of relief that coursed through her ticked her off. Since when did Billy, whose head barely reached her eyebrows, who weighed less than she did and who definitely had a better manicure, represent safety to her?

“So,” he drawled. “Tell me. How’re the exams going? I’m sure you’re doing fabulously.”

She reached out a hand to pet Alfie. The friendly dog licked her knuckles. “I hope you’re right. Can I ask you something?”

She half turned, but when she did, the only person close to her was turning to head across the street. All she saw was the back of a loud Hawaiian print bowling shirt and a blue baseball cap. She couldn’t tell anything about the man except that he was not much taller than her five feet seven inches.

“Honey, you can ask me anything.”

She kept her hand on Alfie’s head. “Do you know that guy?” She gestured toward the retreating back of the man in the Hawaiian shirt.

Billy shook his head. “Heavens no. That is a nasty excuse for a shirt. Why?”

She laughed weakly. “It’s nothing. For a few minutes I thought he was following me. So, did Bouvier send someone to work on your electricity last week?”

“Yeah. My stove went out—again.”

“Was it the greasy guy with the shaved head?”

Billy nodded and shuddered. “Ugh. And the baggy work pants? Yes.”

“Did he go anywhere else?”

“I don’t know. What’s wrong?”

Angela thought better of telling Billy what had happened. He could be dramatic. She didn’t want to cause a panic among the other residents of her building.

“Nothing,” she lied. “I needed him to look at my kitchen light.”

Alfie whined and pulled on his leash, jerking Billy’s arm. “Oops. Gotta go. Alfie’s got to have his afternoon constitutional.”

“See you later.” She liked having Billy as a neighbor. He was funny and sweet, and he made great jambalaya. But right now she wished he was eight inches taller and forty pounds heavier. Although she’d never admit it to anyone, she could use a knight in shining armor.

Oh please. Get over yourself. She no more needed a knight—shining armor or not—than she needed a second head. Either one of them would be too high-maintenance. All she needed was something to distract her from this damn paranoia. As soon as she was done with finals, she was going shopping for a deadbolt and a pair of opaque curtains.

And then it would be time for a trip to Chicago, to see her brother, Brad, his wife and her two adorable nieces. The thought of seeing the girls made her feel better immediately. She headed on toward her apartment, glancing back for one more glimpse of the man in the blue cap, but she didn’t see him anywhere.

Before she got her attention turned back to where she was walking, her foot caught and she nearly went head over heels. She steadied herself by grabbing the back of the wrought-iron chair that she’d tripped over.

The man sitting in it reached one hand for his mug and the other to help steady her. “Whoa there.”

Without letting go of her arm, he stood. “You okay? Sorry my chair got in your way.” He laughed. “I hate it when it does that.”

“Oh, no.”

“Crap,” he said at the same time.

It was Lucas Delancey. She glared at him. “You again. Your apartment is around here,” she said accusingly.

“It’s in the area, but you gotta admit, this place has the best café au lait on this side of the Quarter.” He cocked his right eyebrow. “Can I buy you a cup?”

“No!” She heard the harsh panic in her voice. She took a deep slow breath and tried again. “No, thank you,” she said evenly. “If I run into you one more time I’m going to be convinced I have another stalker.”

“You’ve got a stalker?” His gaze turned sharp as an emerald.

She winced. “No, I didn’t mean that. It was—” She shook her head. “It was a joke.”

He stared at her. “I don’t think so, Ange.”

There was that nickname again. The single syllable sent nostalgia surging through her. He’d always called her Ange, when he wasn’t calling her Brat.

“Well, you don’t know, do you?” she retorted, making a show of looking at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

He caught her by her wrist. “Who is he?”

“Nobody you know. Anyhow, I was joking.”

“You’ve got my phone number. Call me if you need me.”

She looked down at his hand. It was big and well shaped, with long, strong fingers. It looked like a hand that could wield a mean sword. Like a knight in—

Stop it! she commanded herself and jerked away from his grasp. Lucas Delancey was a lot of things. Maybe to the people of his precinct in Dallas he was a knight in shining armor, but in her experience, he’d be better cast as the Artful Dodger.

Still, the idea of having someone like him on her side was tempting. It would be so easy to tell him about the odd occurrences of the past week or so. Her certainty that someone was going into her apartment when she wasn’t home. Her sense that someone was watching her, following her.

But seeing him twice in two days flung her back in time. To when she was sixteen and knew she’d die if she never got to kiss him. Her insides turned upside down at the memory of her hesitant naïve kiss and his bold, sensual response.

She’d never been kissed like that since.

“Ange?”

She blinked and realized she was staring at his mouth. What had he said?

Call me if you need me.

“I won’t need you,” she said coldly and headed in the direction of her apartment.

Behind her, he spoke. “Don’t be so sure about that, Ange.”

She stalked away, praying he wasn’t watching her. The idea of him checking out her butt was horribly embarrassing. After a dozen steps or so, she stopped and glanced back over her shoulder.

He was nowhere in sight.

Irritated with herself for looking back, she whirled—and ran into someone else.

“Hey, Angie. Careful.”

“Oh, no,” she muttered. Not Doug, too. She’d thought she’d finally convinced him she wasn’t interested in dating him. Apparently this was destined to be her week from hell. Exams, intruders, high school flames and creepy ex-boyfriends. What else could happen?

Doug’s arm snaked around her shoulders. “Steady. Are you okay?”

She pulled away from him as smoothly as she could, not quite able to suppress a shudder. “I’m fine, Doug. What are you doing here?”

“I had a delivery to make in this neighborhood, so I thought I’d run upstairs and see if you were okay. I’ve been worried. You haven’t answered your phone in the last several days.”

Angela cringed inwardly. No, she hadn’t, on purpose.

“I’m glad you’re okay. You’re certainly looking good.”

“Thanks. I’m kind of in a hurry.”

“Who was that guy you were talking to?” Doug’s words were casual, but his pale blue eyes narrowed as he scrutinized her.

“An old friend from high school.” She started to walk away but he caught her arm.

“Have dinner with me. I miss you.”

She stepped away, tugging her arm away from his grasp. “I’m sorry, Doug, but no. You need to stop calling me. I’m in the middle of final exams and—”

“After exams then.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—”

But he was walking away.

Angela practically ran the rest of the way to her apartment. She locked the door behind her.

“Finally!” she sighed. What a bizarre day. At least it was over now and she was back in her apartment.

Safe.

She tossed her things onto the couch.

And froze.

There, on the corner back cushion, was a smudge. A tiny smudge—hardly noticeable, even on the pale beige fabric. But it hadn’t been there last night or this morning.

Dread settled beneath her breastbone and tears prickled behind her eyes. “No,” she muttered. “Not safe.”

She frowned. Could it have been Doug? He had no reason to be in this neighborhood, except to check on her. He’d said he had a delivery in the area, but his office supply store was out in Metairie. She doubted he had many clients down here in the French Quarter.

Before she could decide whether to call the super or storm downstairs and bang on his door, her phone rang.

She looked at the caller ID, and the dread in her chest lifted. “Brad, hi—” Her voice gave out. She cleared her throat. “Calling to make sure I’m studying?” she asked, smiling.

Her brother didn’t call often. He was too overworked. And he never, ever called during the day.

“Studying? Oh. Your exams,” Brad said. “No, I just wanted to see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine,” she answered automatically, turning her back on the sofa. “You, on the other hand, sound a lot more distracted than usual. How’s Sue? And my two gorgeous nieces?”

“Good. They’re good. So how are you doing?”

She laughed. “You just asked me that. Somebody was talking about you the other day. Let’s see—oh, I know. Hank Percy. He’d heard your name on the national news—some case you were trying. He wanted to do a piece on you for the Chef Voleur Weekly Record. I’m supposed to ask you if you would talk to him.” She paused for dramatic effect. “So, ADA Harcourt, I guess you’ve finally hit the big time. You’re going to have a write-up in Hank Percy’s column.”

There was a pause, barely enough to notice. “I guess.”

“Brad? Is everything all right?” The sinking feeling came back. “Is Sue okay? The girls?”

He sighed. “Seriously, sis. Can’t I call and check on you without you getting paranoid?”

“Interesting choice of words,” she said wryly. “It’s been a weird day. But my last exam is Monday, and I’ll have a whole six weeks before summer classes start.”

Suddenly, she missed her brother. He and Sue and her nieces were her only family since their mother had died. “I was planning to fly up there for a long weekend this summer. Why don’t I come next week, or the week after?”

Another pause. Longer this time. “Now’s not a good time. That big case Hank Percy called you about has put me behind on several others, and—and the girls have a virus.”

Angela felt hurt. Brad was putting her off. She could hear it in his voice. “Are you sure there’s nothing wrong?”

She heard him take a breath. “Absolutely. It’s just hectic. Maybe in about a month. How about the Fourth of July?”

“Okay then. Now’s not really a good time for me, either. I’m probably going to sleep for a week after my last test on Monday. Why don’t you give me a call when things settle down—if they ever do?”

“I will. I promise. Things are just crazy right now. Listen, sis. Watch out for yourself. New Orleans can be dangerous.”

“Don’t worry about me. I’m tough. See, when I was a kid, my brother and his best friend picked on me all the time. I had to learn to stand up for myself.”

Brad chuckled. “You are tough. There’s no denying that.”

“Speaking of your best friend, guess who I ran into today?”

There was nothing but silence on the other end of the phone.

“Brad? Are you there?”

“Yeah. What—you don’t mean Delancey, there in New Orleans?”

“Who else? How many best friends have you had?”

“So you saw Luke. I thought he was in Dallas.”

“Well, apparently he’s taking a vacation.” She frowned. “It’s funny. He didn’t ask about you.”

“Hang on a second,” Brad said.

She heard him talking to someone.

“Sis, I’ve got to go. I’ve got a meeting in two minutes. Good luck on the rest of your tests.”

“Love you,” she said, but Brad had already hung up.

She realized she was oddly close to tears.

“That was weird,” she whispered. As she swiped her fingers across her cheeks, her gaze lit on the smudge on her sofa.

Her fist tightened around her cell phone and she shivered.

“HOW IN THE HELL DID YOU let Angela see you? I thought you were good at this stuff.”

Lucas cringed at the fury in Brad’s voice. He’d seen Angela on her cell phone a few moments ago. She must have been talking to him.

“Hey, I’m a detective, not a cat burglar. I was bound to run into her sooner or later. I was grabbing a quick café au lait. Who knew she’d finish her exam in just over an hour? Isn’t that record time?”

“You should have known. Have you forgotten how smart she is? What did she do when she saw you?”

“What do you think she did? She got pissed off. Wanted to know what I was doing here. I told her I was taking some time off.” He sniffed. “The years haven’t mellowed her much.”

“So what now? You’re going to have to find me somebody to take your place.”

“Nobody’s taking my place. She just thinks it’s her bad luck that she ran into me. I could see it in her face. Nope. I’ve got cameras set up everywhere—the street in front of her apartment, her hallway and door and her living room and kitchen. Anybody even goes near her building, I’ll see them.”

He paused for a beat and then took a deep breath. “Somebody’s going into her apartment when she’s not there, Brad.”

“Oh, God. You’ve seen him? I knew it. It’s got to be Picone. He’s sent someone down there after her. A hit man.”

“Who? Who would he send?”

Brad grunted in frustration. “That’s the $64,000 question. Picone’s organization is a family business. He’s got four sons and two daughters. Word is Nikki Jr. is being groomed to take over someday. Milo and Paulo have been linked to several suspicious deaths. And the son-in-law, Harold, was convicted of manslaughter about six years ago. The younger daughter isn’t married. She’s in her twenties. I’ve heard she’s a technology whiz.”

Lucas filed the names away in his brain. “What about the fourth son?”

“Tony. The youngest boy. He’s totally clean, from all the information I’ve got. The police have a confidential informant who says he’s Mama’s baby, and not in the business.”

“So which one’s out of town?”

Brad laughed wryly. “I wish it were that easy. None of them have been seen for the last couple of days.”

“Have you got pictures?”

“I’ll have to get my secretary to check the newspaper archives. Why? Have you spotted someone hanging around?”

“Not really. There is this one forgettable type who seems to hang around the building a lot. He’s kind of dumpy and pale as a fish’s belly.”

“Doesn’t sound like any of the family I’ve ever seen.”

“Maybe that’s the point. Forgettable is probably a job requirement for a hit man. I’m keeping an eye on him.”

“Think he’s the one getting into her apartment? Have you talked to the super?”

“Not yet. This guy’s never done anything that I’ve seen. He just hangs around like he’s waiting for somebody. But the next time the intruder goes into her apartment, I’ll be watching. And trust me, I’ll be all over him—”

“The next time?”

“Don’t worry, Brad. I’m going to get Ryker to talk to Chicago P.D. and maybe get a handle on who your big crime boss might have sent.”

“You can’t do that. I don’t want to broadcast that I’ve got a sister, much less where she is.”

“I said don’t worry. Look up the word discreet in the dictionary and you’ll find Ryker’s face.”

“Yeah, but Ryker’s so by-the-book. I’m afraid that’ll trump his discretion. He’ll be concerned with chain of command. And by the time he gets to someone who knows something, he’ll have spread the word about my sister all over the Chicago P.D. Besides, he’s in Chef Voleur, and that means even more links in the chain. Maybe Ethan could get one of the senior detectives in New Orleans to call up here, maybe talk to somebody he knows. Discreetly.”

“That’s not going to happen. My hot-headed younger brother isn’t happy with me right now. Ryker’ll handle it. He’s not such a stickler for chain of command these days.”

“Okay, if you’re sure. But do it today. That hit man’s on a deadline. I’m doing closing arguments on Monday. The case should go to the jury no later than Tuesday. I doubt it will take them a day to convict. Until then, Angela’s in danger.”

“Brad, you trust me, right? I’m on it. Nothing’s going to happen to Ange. Not on my watch.”

“Thanks, Luke. How are the accommodations?”

“Well, at least this place has a working toilet. I bought a portable refrigerator. Dawson found me a cot, and there’s a market three doors down.”

“Anything you need, just ask.”

“I could use an air conditioner, but other than that, I’m fine. There’s nothing I’d rather be doing right now than spying on Angela—okay wait. That didn’t come out right.”

Brad chuckled. “Don’t worry, Luke. I know what you meant, and I know I can trust you with my sister. I can trust you with my sister, can’t I?”

“Hey, she’s practically my sister, too.” Liar. That might have been true when he and Brad were eleven, but now—

As Angela had told him, she was all grown up now. And so was he. And there had been nothing brotherly about his reaction to her.

“Thanks, Luke. I knew I could count on you.”

Lucas hung up with a frustrated sigh and dialed Ryker’s number.

Yeah, Brad could trust him completely. He’d watch her every move and be on alert in case anything happened.

He’d keep her safe. Even if it meant taking a lot of cold showers.

Chapter Three

It was after ten when Lucas tossed half a sandwich into the trash. He made a mental note to take the bag out in the morning before it started to smell. He was going to get real tired of ham sandwiches before this bodyguard detail was over.

And right now he’d sell his vintage Mustang Cobra for a café au lait. At least he had the refrigerator, so his bottled water wasn’t the temperature of his unairconditioned room.

As he drained the last of the water, his eye caught a movement on Angela’s living room monitor. She’d finally gotten up from the table, where she’d been hunched over her books for the past three hours.

He yawned. That was dedication. And determination. Those qualities were more appealing in grown-up Angela than they had been in bratty kid Angela.

They weren’t the only qualities that had gotten better with time, either. She had on shorts and a T-shirt that read Laissez les bon temps roulez, with bon temps—good times—stretched across her breasts.

Lucas swallowed. Those would be good times.

Her long legs, which had made her as awkward as a newborn colt when she was a kid, now made his mouth water. That dark brown hair that was always getting in her eyes now fell in soft waves to curve inward at her neck. And her pugnacious chin and too-short nose were now part of a face that had turned out just about perfect.

She walked into the kitchen, giving Lucas a unique stereo view of her front and back through the two monitors.

That did it. She officially looked hot from every angle.

As she poured herself a half glass of wine, Lucas grabbed another cold plastic bottle from the refrigerator, quelling the urge to splash some of it on his face—not to mention other parts of his body.

Back in the living room, she stopped in front of her shelf of DVDs and perused them as she sipped her wine.

Lucas’s pulse sped up. She was looking for a movie to watch. Just don’t pick Charade. He’d chosen the 1963 Audrey Hepburn/Cary Grant movie because it wouldn’t stand out on her shelf of old movies, but he hadn’t stopped to see if she had another copy of it. Still, out of her hundred or so titles, the chances were slim that she’d pick that very one.

Watch the one you rented, Ange. It’s right there on the couch.

But she didn’t pick up on his telepathic plea. Her fingers slid across the cases’ spines, until she was dangerously close to his mini-spy cam, so close that the shadow of her hand obscured the lens.

Holding his breath, he reached for his cell phone. As a last resort, he’d call her. He could say he got her number from Brad—and it would be true. He wasn’t going to tell her when he’d gotten it. He started dialing.

A sharp knock sounded on her door.

She jumped—and so did he. Her head snapped around and her hand went to her throat. Then she set her wine glass down directly in front of the camera lens.

Lucas pocketed his phone and reached for his Sig Sauer. He seated it in the paddle holster at the small of his back. He scrutinized the monitors and cursed as only a Delancey could. He’d been so intensely concentrated on her that he hadn’t noticed someone coming into the building.

The hall spy cam picked up on a dark figure, barely visible in the wan light of the inadequate 40-watt bulbs that lined the corridors. The camera aimed at her door showed the back of a man’s bald head.

Lucas shoved his arms into his long-sleeved shirt and fastened a couple of buttons. He couldn’t see a damn thing through the living room monitor. The stem of the wine glass was blocking it. He had to rely on sound and what little he could see through her French doors.

ANGELA’S HEART BEAT a staccato rhythm as her fingers closed around the glass door knob.

“Who is it?” she said sharply.

“Electrician,” came the terse reply.

She jerked her hand away as if the knob were hot. A repairman this time of night? That didn’t feel right.

Billy must have told Bouvier what she’d said about her kitchen light. But why would Bouvier send the guy up here at night? He normally went around the world to avoid paying overtime.

“I’m sorry, but it’s late. Please come back tomorrow,” she called through the door.

“Look, lady, I get here when I get here. Now do you want your light fixed or not? “

“It—it’s working now. It was probably just a burned-out bulb.”

“Awright,” the electrician growled. “No skin off my nose. I’m billing Bouvier anyhow.”

She listened as his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall. Once she could no longer hear them, she slumped and hugged herself, her hands shaking.

“What’s wrong with me?” she muttered. She was becoming too paranoid. She pressed her palms against her hot cheeks. Overreacting to every little thing.

Was it the pressure of exams causing her to make mountains out of mole hills? Sure, a few odd things had happened in the past few days, but every single one of them had a reasonable explanation, didn’t they?

Her gaze lit on the smudge on her sofa. No. Not all of them. In the eight months she’d lived here, Bouvier had never sent a repairman during the evening, and he’d never gone into her apartment when she wasn’t there.

At least not to her knowledge.

She sucked in a deep, shaky breath. First thing tomorrow, she was going to march down there and demand he change her locks and install deadbolts.

But what about tonight? She twirled slowly, looking around the room.

“I know,” she whispered. She grabbed a dining chair and dragged it over to the door. She braced it under the knob. Then she fetched her broom and slid it through the dual handles of the French doors.

For a few seconds she stood in the middle of the room, feeling appalled by her makeshift locks.

She’d always prided herself on her fearlessness. And now look at her.

She sighed. At least if anyone tried to get in, she’d hear them. She grabbed her cell phone and headed into her bedroom.

Then she stopped. What had she done with her wine glass? A quick glance around and she spotted it on the shelf of DVDs. Retrieving it, she headed into the bathroom to take a shower.

By the time she got out of the shower and dried her hair, she was yawning. It wasn’t that late. Barely eleven. But she couldn’t study any more tonight. Not only was she really tired, but she wouldn’t be able to concentrate. That meant she’d have to study all weekend if she wanted to do well on Monday’s exam. So maybe getting to sleep early tonight was a good idea.

After she finished brushing her hair, she put on her red pajamas and climbed into bed. Just as she reached to turn her light out her phone rang.

It was Doug. She was tempted not to answer, but she was afraid if she didn’t he might show up at her door, just to check on her. He’d done it before.

She answered.

‘Angela, I’m sorry. I meant to call earlier. Now you’re in bed.”

“Oh, I just—” She stopped. Why had he said that? “I’m studying, Doug. What did you want?”

“Studying? Really? It was nice seeing you today. It’s been so long since we’ve seen each other face-to-face, much less had a good talk.”

“I just saw you today. Have you been drinking?” He always tended to ramble, but tonight he wasn’t making any sense.

“Oh, I’ve had a little wine. Just sitting here thinking about you.”

She grimaced and rubbed her temples. “This isn’t a good idea, Doug. You need to move on. Go out with someone else.”

“I don’t want to go out with someone else, Angela. I want you.”

“Please, Doug. Don’t—”

“Don’t try to deny it, Angela. We were perfect together. I felt it, and I know you did, too.”

“No, we weren’t. Don’t make it more than it was. We went out three times. I’m sorry, but I have to insist that you don’t call me again. If I have to, I’ll change my number.”

“Oh, Angie. You don’t want to threaten me. You’re just tired from all your exams. I’ll let you go to sleep. We can make plans later.” He laughed softly. “By the way, I really love you in red pajamas.” He hung up.

Angela frowned at the phone as her brain processed what he’d just said.

Love you in red pajamas.

Oh, God. She looked down at the red silk pajamas she’d put on after her shower—put on right here in the bedroom.

Her blood froze in her veins as the ominous implication of his words sunk in.

Now you’re in bed.

Love you in red.

Her gaze flew to her bedroom window. The blinds and the curtains were closed. There was no way anyone could see in.

She frowned as she looked around the room. Window, closet, bathroom doors, door to living room. There was no way he could possibly see, unless—

The answer that hit her like a slap in the face was inconceivable. It couldn’t be, could it?

“Oh, no,” she moaned. It was the only answer.

“No, no, no.” Her breath caught and her scalp burned with panic.

She wanted to scream. Wanted to vault out of bed and run. But if what she was thinking were true, he was watching her, waiting for that very reaction.

With her skin crawling and her insides knotted with fear, she reached out as quickly and smoothly as she could and felt for the switch on the bedside lamp. It took several tries with her terror-numbed fingers before she turned it off.

With the lamp off, the room was dark, except for the pale light seeping in around the window curtains. She stood on shaky legs, the hairs literally standing up on the back of her neck, and her shoulder muscles cramping.

She felt like someone was right behind her, breathing down her neck, about to grab her.

Moving slowly, as if it would keep her from being seen, she slipped out from under the covers and fled into the living room. For a few seconds, she just stood there in the dark while gigantic shudders shook her body.

Finally, she turned on the overhead light. She’d rather be seen through the balcony doors by half the population of New Orleans than consider what her brain was telling her.

“It can’t be—” she breathed. “Oh, God, what do I do?”

Her brain felt as frozen as her blood. She couldn’t think of anything except the awful implication of Doug’s words. How had he—? Surely he couldn’t have—

Yes. He could.

She had evidence that someone had been inside her apartment. Not to mention her feeling that someone was watching her.

And what he’d said.

“Police!” she said aloud. “I’ve got to call the police.”

Where was her phone? Staring down at her hands, she tried to make her brain work. She didn’t have it. That meant it was still in the bedroom. She’d dropped it, either on her bed or on the floor.

She had to go back in there.

“Oh, God, no. I can’t. He’s watching me!”

ANGLEA WAS IN TROUBLE.

Lucas jerked awake and almost tipped over his chair. He’d dozed off leaning back in it.

“He’s watching me!” Her voice was pitched high with panic. “Got to call the police!”

He blinked and focused on the monitor screen. She was standing in the living room in slinky red pajamas with her hands over her mouth, as if to stop herself from screaming.

Oh crap! She’d found the cameras.

How in hell—? He vaulted up, sending his chair flying across the room, and headed for the door.

He bolted down the stairs four at a time and hit the street door running. He had to get to her before she called the cops.

If the police came and found the cameras, a three-month suspension would be the least of his worries. His career would be over—hell his whole life. Not even Brad’s testimony would keep him from being thrown in prison.

And if Angela hated him before, she’d despise him after this.

He sprinted across the street and up the stairs, digging in his pocket for her key as he ran. With everything else that was about to explode, he sure didn’t want to wake up the whole building by crashing in her door.

He unlocked the door and pushed on it. It barely gave, and he heard the creak of wood scraping across wood.

Damn it! She must have blocked the door with a chair. He pushed as hard as he could against the wooden chair without shattering it.

“Ange!” he called. “Angela, it’s me, Lucas.”

“What—?”

“Let me in, Ange.”

“What’s—what are you doing here—?” Even though she was breathless and choked with fear, she got the chair moved and unlocked the door.

He came bursting in and grabbed her by the arms. “Listen Ange, let me explain—”

“Lucas, what are you—?”

“Calm down. Everything’s going to be okay.”

“Oh, Lucas! Help me!” She pointed toward the bedroom. “He’s watching me. He knew everything. It’s a camera—it’s got to be!”

Lucas cringed, but then what she said sunk in. He’s watching me.

She was pointing toward the bedroom. He didn’t have a camera in her bedroom.

“What? No, not in the bedroom,” he said.

She stared at him. “It is. You have to believe me. He knew I was in bed. Knew what I was wearing. He was—he was—”

She wasn’t making any sense. “Okay, okay.” He pulled her close, to try to soothe her panic. “Shh. Let’s get you calmed down and then we can figure out what to do.”

“No, you have to call the police. My phone’s in there. I couldn’t go back in there—I couldn’t.”

“I know, sugar, I know.” He slid his palm up her back and cradled her head. Her warm breath stuttered against his neck as her arms slipped around his waist. For a second, he was lost in the sensation of her soft, firm body pressed against him.

Then she pulled away. “Police,” she muttered. “We’ve got to call the police.”

Lucas forced his brain back to his problem. He needed a couple of minutes to think. To figure out why she thought there was a camera in her bedroom. And he needed to get her terror under control—fast.

“Come on,” he said gently, leading her to the kitchen. “Let’s get you a glass of water. Sit down.” He quickly fixed a glass of ice water and handed it to her.

He watched while she drank it. Her pale cheeks had regained a little bit of color by the time she’d downed about half of it.

“That’s good.” He sat on his haunches in front of her. “Now tell me why you think there’s a camera in your bedroom, and who you think put it there.”

She choked a little on the water and coughed.

“Shh. It’s okay. Take your time. Is the bedroom camera the only one you’ve found?” Some protector he was. She was terrified and his first thought was to cover his ass. He held his breath, waiting for her to answer.

“The only one? Oh, my God. Do you think there are more?”

“No.” He took the glass and set it on the table, then held her hands in his. “No. Shh. I was just checking. You said he called you. Who?”

“Doug Ramis. He called me and he knew I was in bed. And then he said he liked me in red pajamas.” Her cheeks lost color again. “He could see me, Lucas! He could see me. How else would he know? Please! Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me he couldn’t see me. I can’t believe anybody would do that. It’s so perverted.” She shuddered again.

Lucas couldn’t quite sort out what she was talking about, but he did hear her say, “It’s so perverted.”

She was going to despise him. “Who’s Doug Ramis?”

“I dated him a few times. Three. Three times. He thinks we’re—” she gestured aimlessly “—soul mates or something.”

Could he be the bland guy who’d been hanging around her building? Lucas made a mental note to show her a photo of him.

“Maybe he’s seen your pajamas before? Maybe he was just guessing?”

“No! No. Of course he hasn’t seen my pajamas.” For an instant, indignation overcame her panic. “He couldn’t have just guessed. He. Saw. Me.“

“Okay, shh. Here. Finish your water.” He handed the glass back to her, then looked toward the bedroom. “You turned the light off?”

She nodded. “So he couldn’t see me.” A brittle laugh escaped her lips. “You think I’m crazy, don’t you?”

“No. I’m going to get your phone. You said it’s in there?”

She nodded. “I dropped it on the bed.”

“Do you have any idea where the camera might be?”

“No.” She shuddered. “I never thought about where it was.”

“That’s okay. Wait right here.” He rose and started toward the bedroom.

“Lucas?”

“Yeah?”

“How—how did you show up just in time?”

That took longer than he thought it would. She was too smart. He put on a grin. “Hey, sugar. That’s what knights in shining armor do, right?”

His lame joke didn’t earn him a smile. Her chocolate eyes went wide and something he couldn’t identify shone from their depths.

He went into the bedroom and closed the door, shutting out the light from the living room. He wished he had an infrared light, so he could see without being seen through the camera. But he didn’t, so he stood still until his eyes adapted to the darkness. He wasn’t about to turn on the light and risk the guy seeing him.

He felt around in her bed for her phone. To his body’s delight and his brain’s dismay, the sheets were still warm from her heat. He took a deep breath, hoping to tamp down his body’s automatic response. But he only succeeded in filling his nose with the scent of chocolate. He shook his head. That had to be his imagination.

His fingers closed around the phone and he pocketed it. Staying low, he swept the room with his gaze. If there was a camera, it would be positioned on the wall opposite the bathroom. At least that’s where he’d mount it.

It was damned hard to see with only the dim light from the curtained windows, but he scrutinized the chest of drawers and dresser that sat against the wall.

A decorative clock hung on the wall above the chest. He looked from it to her bed to the bathroom door. That would be his choice for the best vantage point. He carefully took it down and opened the back.

And there it was. Lucas stared at the familiar shape. It was state of the art, almost as sophisticated as the ones Dawson had loaned him. He didn’t see a microphone. So it was visual only.

Anger hit him like a hot blast of wind. The slimy skunk who was spying on her deserved to spend the rest of his life in prison for stalking. Quelling his urge to smash the clock and the camera inside it against the wall, he pried the camera loose and lifted it out using his handkerchief. He made sure the clock still worked and then repositioned it on the wall.

“Try to spy on her now, you bastard!” he muttered as he pocketed the camera and headed back into the living room.

“Did you find it?” She met his gaze. “You did!” Her hands covered her mouth again. “There really was a camera.”

Lucas wiped a hand down his face. “This Doug guy—that’s who you were talking about, isn’t it?”

“Talking about?”

“When you said another stalker, it’s him?”

She bit her lip and nodded.

Son of a bitch.

Angela was under a double threat. Not only was she in danger from a Chicago crime boss who wanted to use her as leverage against her ADA brother, but she was also being stalked by an obsessed ex-boyfriend.

He had his work cut out for him now. He’d given her a throw-away answer to her question of how he’d shown up just in time, but as Brad had said earlier, Angela was smart—and quick.

She’d ask him again, as soon as she was over the worst of her fear.

And what was he going to say?

Sugar, your brother sent me here to protect you from a hired hit man. The deranged ex-boyfriend is just a bonus. You know, lagniappe. Oh, and by the way, I’ve been watching you through hidden cameras, too.

“Yeah,” he muttered under his breath. “That’ll work.”

Chapter Four

Angela frowned at Lucas, trying to make sense of what he’d just muttered. “What did you say? What will work?”

He looked surprised. “Nothing. I need to get you out of here.”

“Out of here? But where?”

“Someplace where I can keep an eye on you.”

“I can’t—” She looked down. She had on a little satin pajama set that wasn’t fit for going out in public. Not even at night in the French Quarter. “I need to change clothes.”

“Okay, but make it fast.” He nodded toward the bedroom.

Angela swallowed. “You got rid of the camera?”

“I’ve got it with me. I’ll give it to Dawson to check out.”

“Where was it?”

“In the clock over the chest.”

“In the clock.” She nodded, hardly able to believe what she was hearing—what she and Lucas were talking about. Doug Ramis had put a camera—a camera inside her apartment. In her bedroom.

He’d watched her.

Revulsion and fear made her scalp burn.

“You can go in and get some clothes now.”

She took a deep breath.

“Want me to go in there with you?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. I can do it.”

He put a hand on her shoulder. “Hey, Brat, you don’t have to prove anything to me. Just tell me what you want and where to find them.”

Brat. His other childhood nickname for her. Fraught with all the reasons she had to do this herself. Neither he nor Brad had ever thought she was capable of handling anything on her own. What they obviously didn’t realize was that it was because of them that she could take care of herself.

She shook her head, a deep breath fueled her determination. “No,” she said firmly. “No.”

He studied her for an instant, an odd little smile lighting his expression, then he nodded.

She forced herself to walk steadily through the door, but no amount of determination could stop her from looking at the clock. Or from shuddering. Again.

She grabbed underwear, Capri pants and a short-sleeved top, and went into her bathroom. Lucas had assured her that the camera aimed at her bed was disabled, but it didn’t matter. There was no way she could undress in that bedroom. Ever again.

She ran to the bathroom, changed in record time and rushed back to Lucas’s side.

“Ready?”

She grabbed her cell phone and stuck it in her purse with shaky hands. “What about my things? I’ve got a test Monday.”

“Don’t worry about that. Right now we need to get you someplace safe.”

“But—where are we going?”

He sent her an unreadable glance. “Not far. You’ll see.” He took her hand and pulled her toward the door.

“Lucas, how did—”

“No time right now, Ange. If your boyfriend shows up, I don’t want him to see us.”

“Don’t call him that,” she said stiffly.

He stopped and looked at her. “I’m sorry,” he said gently.

To her surprise, once they were outside, Lucas didn’t herd her toward a car. Instead he pulled her with him across the street, where he unlocked the door to the abandoned building that faced her apartment.

She dug in her heels, the hot fear washing over her again. “What is this? Why are we—?”

Lucas slid his arm around her waist and urged her inside. “Come on. It’ll be all right.”

Stunned by all that had happened in the past half hour or so, Angela let him guide her inside. He used the same key to unlock a door at the top of the stairs and then stood back for her to enter ahead of him.

She walked into a darkened room lit only by one large window that faced the street. And her apartment.

It was the window she’d studied earlier, fantasizing that there might be a sinister figure lurking behind it.

Was that sinister figure Lucas?

Then she saw the table and the array of computers and monitors lined up in front of the big window. Beyond the glass, not fifty feet away, were her French doors.

Lucas had left the light on in her living room, and she could see everything, crystal clear. She stared in horror as the full implication of what she saw sank in.

“Oh, God,” she muttered. Her knees went weak and she had to steady herself with a hand against the wall.

Behind her, she heard him shift. When she looked at him, his expression was sheepish and his cheeks were pink.

“I don’t understand. What’s going on here? This looks like—?” her throat closed up. She couldn’t even form the words.

Lucas opened his mouth, but apparently he was having trouble speaking, too, because nothing came out.

Angela tore her gaze away from the window and looked at the monitors lined up on the table.

And moaned.

“Wh-what is this?” she asked, but he didn’t have to answer. It was obvious what she was looking at. There on the screens, in high definition, were her kitchen, her living room, the building’s lobby—

Her hands flew to her mouth as the meaning of everything she was looking at, everything that had happened, finally coalesced into a clear, cohesive picture. She gasped and gulped in air in huge sobs.

Dear God, Lucas was watching her?

“Y-you?” she stammered. “It was you? Spying on me?”

“No, Ange. Not—not really.”

“Oh, God. But Doug knew—what I was wearing. How?”

“Ange, come here.”

His voice sounded like it was coming through an echo chamber, barely discernable over the sawing of her breaths. “No,” she mouthed.

“Here. Sit down. You’re hyperventilating.”

“No, no, no—don’t touch me.” She backed away, pressing her cupped hands more tightly over her nose and mouth, trying to hold in the screams that wanted to escape.

She glanced toward the door.

“No, Ange.” He spread his arms and held his hands palm up. “Don’t panic. You don’t want to do that. You’re safe here.”

An hysterical laugh escaped her lips. “Safe—?”

She bolted for the door, but he caught her easily and pulled her back against him, pinning her arms.

“No!” She gathered as much breath as she could, in preparation for screaming, but he fastened one arm around her and clamped his other palm over her mouth.

“Listen to me, Ange. I need you to stay quiet and listen.”

She tried to bite him, but his hand held her too tightly.

“Ange, you’ve got to trust me. You’ve got to calm down. I’m not going to hurt you. All I want to do is protect you.”

She exerted all the effort she had to pull against his hold on her. He let her go and she backed away, feeling behind her for the door. She knew it was back there. They’d come straight into the room. The room was dark—all the better to see her with, she figured.

“It’s okay, Ange. It’s me. You know you can trust me.”

She watched him warily. This was Lucas. She didn’t understand what was going on. But he had rescued her.

She glanced cautiously around. The room appeared to be a warehouse space with no interior walls. The only light was from the window. The only furnishings she could see were the long table, two chairs and a cot. If there was a bathroom somewhere beyond the reach of the pale light, she couldn’t see it.

“Ange,” he said gently. “Come over here and sit down.”

She took several cautious steps toward him. He gestured toward the other chair, but she didn’t take it. She stood her ground.

“Tell me what happened,” she said flatly.

He shrugged. “Some of it I don’t understand myself. I was surprised as hell—”

“Lucas!” she snapped. “Don’t give me your charming excuse.” Those few words depleted her breath. Her heart was still beating so fast that she could barely get enough air. “Just tell me the truth. Please.”

Lucas grimaced internally as he took in Angela’s pale face, the shine of unshed tears in her eyes and her horrified expression. He’d scared her half to death, but he’d had no choice. The fact that someone else had gotten into her apartment without her knowing meant she was in more danger than he’d realized

“Okay,” he said and drew in a fortifying breath. “I’m here because your brother asked me to watch over you.”

Angela’s arms tightened around herself, and a tiny wrinkle appeared between her eyes. “My brother? Brad?”

“He’s the one.” Lucas sent her a small smile, but it only earned him a narrow-eyed frown.

“Brad wanted you to watch me?” She shook her head. “That doesn’t make any sense. What does he think I’m going to do, that I need watching?”

The color was coming back to her face. That was good.

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